


The Draw

by IndigoNight



Series: We Are The Last People Standing At The End Of The Night [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, pre-Earl/Cecil, references to past-Earl/Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/pseuds/IndigoNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strex is gone, but not forgotten. Carlos is busy in the Desert Otherworld. Earl is lonely. And Cecil is not okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In My Left Hand There Is The Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was meant to be a short prelude to something else, and it snowballed a bit. Primarily I wanted to deal with the idea of Cecil struggling in the aftermath of the Strex invasion and with Carlos elsewhere not really having anyone there to help and support him. I also wanted to a establish where Cecil and Earl have been and set up for where they're going, relationship wise, in future stories that I'm working on.
> 
> That said, this story does brush a bit with infidelity. By _my_ definition of it, there is no infidelity that happens here, meaning nothing physically happens and both parties try to be respectful to Cecil's established relationship. However, there are very obvious desires and a lot of (one-sided) pining and they do brush a bit close. I can promise that I have no intentions of breaking Carlos and Cecil up and that I intend for everyone to be happy... eventually. Nevertheless, if that's something that might bother you, be advised and take care of yourself. Also, as mentioned, the story does reference past torture (both physical and psychological) and Cecil suffering from PTSD, and excessive consumption of alcohol in a poor attempt to deal with said trauma.
> 
> My descriptions are largely based on [videntefernandez's](http://videntefernandez.tumblr.com/) art (particularly [(b)Earl](http://videntefernandez.tumblr.com/post/100882244268))
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to [dangersocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Dangersocks) for being so sweet and encouraging despite kind of being conscripted into it.
> 
> The title and chapter titles are based on the Bastille song of The Draw, which I definitely advise listening to.

“Cecil?”

At the sound of the excited voice, Cecil’s head jerked up from where he’d been hunching over his sandwich. He slurped the tentacle from his PB&J that had been hanging halfway out of his mouth, a flush coloring his cheeks at the sight of his childhood best friend, Earl Harlan approaching him.

Earl looked… he looked _good_. He looked taller than Cecil remembered, and broader, his shoulders nicely filling out his blood spattered chef’s jacket. Unruly red curls poked out from under his chef’s hat and the wide grin on his face caused his nose to scrunch up and the skin between his freckles take on a faintly pink color. Earl waved eagerly with the large meat cleaver he was holding as he pushed his way through the crowded waiting area.

Hastily Cecil shoved the remains of his sandwich into his fanny pack and pasted on an uncomfortable smile. “Hey, Earl,” Cecil greeted as Earl bounded to a stop in front of him.

“Hey Cecil! I don’t remember seeing your name on the reservations list for tonight.” Earl was all bright smile and tightly contained coils of energy as he grinned down at Cecil.

“Well, no-” Cecil started, his cheeks as red as Earl’s hair, but he stopped and cleared his throat. “So, uh, Earl, how-how are you?” he stammered nervously. “I haven’t seen you since that whole… eternal scouts… thing…”

Earl’s smile dimmed slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy, with the restaurant.”

“Right, work, pfft,” Cecil agreed, nodding his head a little too vigorously. “I know about that.”

“Yeah, I know. I always listen to your show.” Earl had stepped in close, leaning down slightly so it was easier to hear each other over the din of the crowd around them. It was a practical posture, but it meant he was looming over Cecil, who was seated on the plush, brown fur bench that ran the length of the waiting area.

Cecil shrank a little into the bench, tilting his head to look up at Earl’s face. Earl’s mismatched eyes were bright and focused intensely on Cecil, as though he was unaware of the crowd jostling around them, and Cecil was fairly certain that his cheeks were about to burst into flames - which would be really unfortunate, since Earl really had perfect eyebrows and it would be a shame to singe them off.

“Maybeyoucouldcomeonsometime,” Cecil said, speaking too quickly as he continued to slide down the bench. “Ithinkit’dbereallyneatandthelistenerswouldtotally-” he had to stop for breath, “-loveit.”

Earl chuckled, low and warm in his throat. “I’d love to,” Earl said, leaning in just a little closer.

“NeatI’llhaveaninterncallyouwithdetails,” Cecil shouted. He slipped all the way to the floor and quickly bounded back up again, nearly clipping Earl on the chin as he did so, and fled the restaurant.

Cecil had walked halfway home by the time his face died down to just sizzling embers. He walked two more blocks before he remembered that he’d driven to Tourniquet.


	2. In My Right Hand There's The Great Unknown

Earl hummed to himself absently as he drove toward his home. He'd just finished working the late late shift at Tourniquet and it was nice to sit in the quiet dark of his truck while the numbers station softly intoned seemingly random numbers interspersed with chimes from his radio. 

He slowed his truck as he passed the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, catching sight of a familiar green polka dot clad back. He slowed to a stop and hopped out of the truck, leaving the key in the ignition as he head toward the bowling alley. 

"Hey, Cecil," he greeted, loud enough to be sure Cecil would hear him as he jogged across the parking lot toward him. "Uh... What are you doing?" The parking lot was otherwise utterly deserted, as might be expected in the wee hours of the morning.

Cecil was standing about three feet to the left of the front door, facing the wall of the building and banging his head in a slow rhythmic fashion again the clapboard wall. "Bowling," Cecil answered, his voice dull and toneless.

Earl raised an eyebrow, glancing around the completely deserted parking lot and the dark, locked building. "I don't think they're open," he pointed out, carefully and ensuring that there was a proper lack of certainty in his voice, since after all he really couldn't be certain of anything. 

"I promised Josie," Cecil argued. "It's bowling night. I'm in the league."

"I know that, Cecil," Earl assured gently. He could hear the slur of alcohol in Cecil's voice that was barely masking something else, something Earl couldn't quite place. "But the rest of the league went home hours ago."

"Josie made me come," Cecil mumbled. He gave up on trying to build a new door with his forehead and finally turned to face Earl. Earl nearly took a step back at the sight of Cecil's face; he looked... wrecked. His two primary eyes were blurry and unfocused, but his third eye was open far too wide and nearly entirely consumed by the black pupil. "She said 'now Cecil,'" Cecil's voice deepened to imitate Old Woman Josie, "'Cecil, you're going to come bowling tonight. You can't spend all your time staring at the Void and moping about that deadbeat boyfriend of yours. If you don't show up I'll send my friends Erika to get you."

"So... the Erikas brought you here in the middle of the night?" Earl asked. He tried to gently lead Cecil away from the building, but Cecil made a whining noise and let his body drop, forcing Earl to ease him to the ground instead. 

Cecil snorted and rolled his eyes. "No," he scoffed. 

"Oh, okay." Cecil didn't elaborate further, so Earl didn't press him. He braced himself and bent his knees so that he could squat and be at eye level with Cecil, who had slumped to sit with his long legs sprawled haphazardly in front of him. 

They sat in silence for a moment while Cecil stared vaguely into the middle distance. After several minutes he frowned and turned to face Earl as if he'd only just realized Earl was there. "You don't _bowl_ ," he said, his eyes narrowing and his voice accusatory. 

Earl couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head. "I know." he agreed seriously, "In high school you told me that was why we'd never work out. Broke my heart."

Cecil giggled, but then stopped abruptly as he swayed and winced. "'M dizzy," he complained, his lips forming a pout. 

"Alright," Earl nodded sympathetically. Something was wrong with Cecil, he could tell that, but there was something in the childishness of Cecil's pout that made it hard not to smile. "Let's get you home." He lifted Cecil's arm, wrapping it around his shoulders. He grunted as he hoisted Cecil to his feet, surprised by how light the radio host was.

“Nooo,” Cecil whined, though he draped himself across Earl’s shoulders. “I have to bowl.”

“The bowling alley is closed,” Earl reminded him patiently, steering Cecil toward his still running truck. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow. It’s time to go home now.”

“‘Don’t wanna go home,” Cecil complained. He’d hunched down the couple of inches necessary to rest his head on Earl’s shoulder and his breath was wet and hot against Earl’s neck, making Earl shiver. Suddenly it was as though they were eighteen again, just graduated with their lives before them. Cecil had leaned against him just like this that night, his breath heavy with orange milk as he pressed sloppy kisses to Earl’s-

Quickly - but gently - Earl deposited Cecil in the passenger side seat of his truck and stepped back. Cecil slumped in his seat, staring moodily out of the windshield. It wasn’t until several minutes after Earl had started driving that either of them spoke again.

“It’s empty,” Cecil mumbled, his chin tucked down against the front of his shirt and his third eye blinking sleepily.

“What is?” Earl asked distractedly as he turned onto Cecil’s street.

 

“Our house.”

Earl slowed to a stop in front of Cecil’s house and paused, staring at the dark building. It did look somehow… empty and sad, but maybe that was just a projection of the sorrow on Cecil’s face.

“Ah, right. So… this is about Carlos,” Earl guessed. He tried to keep his voice even and flat.

Cecil snorted. “Carlos isn’t part of the league,” he corrected, rolling his eyes. “Besides, he’s busy with science, too… too busy to call, or… or come home-” Cecil’s voice hitched.

Earl swallowed, smoothing his hands over the well worn corduroy that coated his steering wheel. “Let’s get you to bed, Cecil,” he said quietly.

It took nearly five minutes for Earl to maneuver Cecil out of the truck and up to the front door, another three for Earl to fish Cecil’s keys out of his pocket, but by the time Earl got the door open Cecil had gone entirely limp and slumped against him, mumbling incoherently about needing a heavier bowling ball. With a sigh, Earl hoisted Cecil up, intending to drape Cecil over his shoulder in a practical fireman’s carry that would not at all put him at risk of taking advantage of his very drunk friend. Cecil, always one to make things as uncomfortable and difficult as possible, stubbornly looped his arms around Earl’s neck, forcing Earl to pick him up bridal style instead.

Earl carried Cecil inside, kicking the door closed behind him. Cecil cooed, rubbing his face against the gap in Earl’s unbuttoned chef’s coat. Earl grit his teeth, fumbling his way into the dark house until he found Cecil’s couch and bent to deposit Cecil onto it. Cecil whined, attempting to cling to him.

“You’re warm,” Cecil complained, his finger’s struggling to maintain his grip on Earl’s coat.

“Cecil, you need to let go,” Earl warned him. He carefully loosened Cecil’s fingers. Cecil tried to reach for Earl’s coat again, so Earl held Cecil’s hands away, gripping them just tight enough to fend his grasp off as he reach over with his other hand to flip on the lamp. As the light came on Cecil hissed and flinched away from it, but Earl hardly noticed. His gaze was focused on Cecil’s wrists, which were thin enough for Earl to grip both of them in one of his own larger hands, but what had drawn Earl’s attention was the faint shadow of a bruise that circled both pale wrists.

“Cecil…” Earl tried. But Cecil wasn’t listening; he was squirming, wrists twisting in Earl’s grasp as he tried to bury his face into one of the throw pillows.

“No,” Cecil moaned, but then again, voice louder and sharper. “No. P-Please… I’ll be good… please just turn it off…” He broke off, chest heaving with a choked sob.

Earl blinked, caught off guard and alarmed by Cecil’s terrified reaction. He caught himself quickly and flicked the lamp back off. As soon as Earl let go of Cecil’s wrists, Cecil curled up on himself, laying half on his stomach with his hands hugged in tight under his body. “I’m sorry. It’s off,” Earl said, trying to calm Cecil as he knelt beside the couch. Cecil made a choked sobbing sound, his whole body shuddering, and Earl could only watch helplessly, a painful knot twisting in his chest. Earl couldn’t bear to watch Cecil so upset, and carefully he reached out, running gentle fingers through Cecil’s hair, remembering how much Cecil had loved that in high school. “It’s okay, Cecil,” he reassured, encouraged when Cecil pressed into his hand. “Get some sleep, okay? I’m sure Carlos will be home soon.”

Cecil whined softly, rolling onto his side and hugging the throw pillow tightly to his chest. “Carlos?” he asked, sounding hopeful as he blinked hazily up at Earl’s shadowed form. He reached out blindly, groping and his hand found Earl’s forearm, latching onto it. A small smile spread across Cecil’s lips, all three eyes closed as his body went limp. “I love you, Carlos.”

Earl could only watch, his chest aching as though a sharp spike had been driven between his ribs and into the left ventricle of his heart, while Cecil fell asleep smiling at the thought of his scientist. He kept stroking Cecil’s hair though, unable to pull himself away from the soft, silky feel of Cecil’s unkempt hair, and he didn’t dislodge Cecil’s hand from his arm either, letting himself serve as an anchor for the radio host, even if Cecil was dreaming that he was someone else.

Earl slumped against the couch, hugging his knees to his chest as Cecil slept. His eyes strayed to look around the shadowed room and realized… it was a disaster. Cecil had never been organized, far from it, but this… there were clothes strewn about, half empty coffee cups and dirty dishes starting to grow mold, and alcohol bottles. Alcohol bottles everywhere.

“Oh, Cecil,” he sighed. “What happened to you?”


	3. Don't Listen To Your Friends, See The Despair Behind Their Eyes

_It was bright, so bright that it pierced through Cecil's eyelids like sharp spikes of hardened sunlight. Cecil whimpered, straining against the chains binding his wrists. They were thick manacles attached to the ceiling above his head, forcing his arms to stretch painfully._

_There was no apparent light source in the room, but the walls, ceiling, and floor were all bright yellow, so yellow that they emanated their own light. Light that drilled into his skull and made it feel as though his head would split open and everything inside of him would leak out._

_He sobbed helplessly as the sound of footsteps echoed across the floor behind him. He didn't know how whoever it was had gotten in, since there were no visible doors or windows in the room, but someone was there and recent experience had taught him to dread the presence of others in his burning prison._

_The sound only elicited a high giggle from the person behind him. Long, jagged fingernails touched Cecil's back, digging into the raw wounds that had been flayed into his skin and Cecil flinched, trying desperately to squirm away as a fresh trail over blood trailed down his abused back._

_"Please." Cecil hated himself as soon as the word slipped between his lips, but no amount of desperate wishing could suck the air, and the sound carried with it, back into his lungs. Nor could he stop more begging from following it. "It's so bright..." His voice was dry and it cracked. He struggled to get enough air into his lungs, the pressure of his own weight on his arms tightening his chest and making each half formed gasp for air feel as though he was struggling against a giant constrictor coiled around his body. "It hurts."_

_His words were only meet by another giggle and hot breath on his neck as the person behind him leaned in close to nibble on his ear. "That's how you know you're serving the Smiling God, silly."_

***

Cecil woke to the realization that he was laying down on what was, probably, his couch. It had taken to shifting texture and dimensions at random lately, so he couldn't be completely certain, but it smelled right at least. He was also vaguely aware of being wrapped in a warm scale blanket, the skin of it smooth and soothing against his own twitching skin. 

He groaned, dragging his fingers through his tangled hair as he pushed himself to sit up. His head pounded, the sound of his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears accompanied by the shrieking of the remnant alcohol in his veins. He blinked as a mug of water appeared under his nose. He took the mug and drank from it gratefully, but shook his head when the freckled hand followed it by holding out two small white pills - municipally approved pills that functioned as the final step in the see something, say nothing, drink, and forget procedure. 

"Cecil, what's going on?"

Cecil should have been surprised by the sound of Earl's tired voice, but somehow he wasn't. "I should get ready for work," Cecil deflected. 

"You look like shit," Earl said. 

Cecil snorted. "Careful Earl, you'll charm me right off my feet with talk like that." It should have felt weird. After all, he and Earl had barely spoken since high school, even once Earl had finally reached adulthood they'd exchanged distant niceties when they ran into each other at the Ralph's or ended up cowering in the same hiding spot, but they'd never really reconnected. But now, suddenly, here he was, in Cecil's - in Cecil and _Carlos'_ house - and somehow it was just... easy, right like no time had passed at all and they were discussing their Advanced Bloodstone Chanting homework or working on a Modified Sumerian translate. 

"You're drinking, a lot by the looks of it, but you won't forget? " Earl looked around the room pointedly, but Cecil did not; he knew what Earl was looking at. "This isn't like you, Cecil."

Cecil stood sharply, ignoring the harsh stabbing pain in his head and covering the way he stumbled by scooping up several of the empty bottles. 

Earl reached out, catching Cecil's hand before he could straighten up. "What happened?" Earl asked, his voice quiet but it held the same deep gravitas that had helped him guide his scout troop through all manner of dangers. It was warm and comforting, but held a note of command that made the listener want to tackle a cricketbear with their bare hands. "What aren't you forgetting?"

Cecil froze, unable to bring himself to pull away from Earl's hand, large and rough from years of scout training. He looked down at their linked hands, his own hand looking unusually pale and fragile under Earl's. The sleeve of Cecil's shirt had ridden up, and below the clasp of Earl's fingers the faint shadow that still marred Cecil's wrist was clearly visible. It was nothing more than a shadow now, a barely there reminder; most people wouldn't notice it unless they knew what to look for, but Earl had never been most people. After all, Earl had earned his Advanced Emotive Perception badge when they were only seven. 

"It's Strex, isn't it?" Earl asked quietly. 

Cecil jerked, reflexively trying to pull his hand away. "I don't know what you're-" Cecil spluttered, but Earl's hand only tightened, holding him where he was. "How do you know about- You weren't even here." As far as Cecil knew, Earl hadn't reappeared in Night Vale until after Strex had been exercised from their peaceful town. 

"I listened to the archives of your show, to catch up on everything I missed," Earl explained with a shrug. 

Cecil gave up on trying to pull away and sank back down onto the couch, momentarily distracted. "There are archives of my- that's not the point."

"You were at that... 'picnic' they had." Earl's voice was slow, talking more to himself than Cecil as he pieced it together. 

"Everyone was," Cecil deflected. "It was mandatory."

"And everyone else went through the proper post-trauma procedures," Earl added. "Nearly all of the boys in my troop earned their Hostile Corporate Takeover Recovery and First Aid badges by helping out, even the ones who weren't really old enough to try for it. The whole town did it. You didn't." There was certainty in Earl's voice; not fact, he hadn't been there to witness Cecil's absence. But he knew all the same. 

Of course Earl knew. Cecil had been doing so well, doing his show, keeping up appearances. He knew someone might notice eventually, but Carlos was gone and Cecil had been keeping himself isolated, only talking to Carlos on the phone and the town through his broadcast equipment. He'd been telling himself that if he could just keep it together until Carlos came home, no one would have to know. He could hide whatever he was feeling with his voice - when it mattered - because if nothing else he could control his voice. But there Earl was, watching Cecil with his earnest, mismatched eyes and truly _seeing_ him in a way few people did. Earl, who had once known him better than anyone, and maybe still did. Of course Earl knew. 

But Cecil was in charge. There were so many things in the world that he could not control, but Cecil Palmer controlled his voice. "I don't need help," he said firmly. He pulled away again, and this time Earl let him. "Don't forget, Earl, I was a scout too. I earned my Hostile Corporate Takeover Recovery and First Aid badge at the appropriate age just like everyone else."

Cecil busied himself with collecting the empty bottles and purposefully did not look at Earl. He collected as many as he could carry and brought them into the kitchen. He didn't look, but he knew Earl followed him. He heard the quiet scrape of Earl's chef's jacket settling against the doorway to the kitchen, he felt the intensity of Earl's gaze burning - not literally, yet, so Earl couldn't be that mad - into his back. Cecil set the bottles down on the counter space next to the sink, pathetically grateful that Earl had stayed in the doorway rather than trying to actually follow him into the kitchen. He could imagine Earl standing there, one shoulder braced against the door jam, his arms crossed in a way that accentuated his broad shoulders and thick biceps that adulthood had finally blessed him with. Earl was tired, his hair messy and his short beard in need of a trim, but Earl was kind and sympathetic - and warm, Cecil's hand still tingled where Earl had been clasping it - and Cecil was hurting. He told himself it was because he missed Carlos, because the terrible wounds that Strexcorp had inflicted on Night Vale as a whole where still healing, and because the hangover was still making his head pound and his blood shriek. That was why Cecil was hurting and vulnerable, and why Earl's arms, the arms of his oldest friend, suddenly looked so inviting. 

Earl, however, was oblivious to Cecil's inner monologue and denials. "Maybe you need to earn it again," he pressed, refusing to let the subject of Cecil's self-care drop. "Because you seem to be forgetting that the first and most important step is forgetting."

Cecil tried hard not to listen to Earl. He yanked open the cabinet beneath the sink and began feeding the empty bottles to the recycling receptacle, which crunched the glass and swished its tail happily. 

"You can't heal if you keep the memories and the pain so close," Earl pressed insistently. "You have to forget the details, the reality of it so that you can move forward." Earl was saying nothing except what every Night Valian old enough to talk knew. That's what the pills did, they didn't erase the entire event - a prescription, or more likely, government mandate was required for that - but they made the problem seem hazy, distant and unimportant. 

"I can't forget!" Cecil's control broke. He slammed his fists down on the counter with a loud bang that made the recycling receptacle shrink deeper into the confines of the cabinet with a whine. Behind him, Earl went very still. Cecil didn't look around, he didn't move. He stayed where he was, leaning against the cool counter for support, his hands splayed out across the scarred surface top, his shoulders hunched and every muscle quivering with pent up need for _some kind_ of release. Light was streaming in through the window over the sink, pushing through the ornate lace curtains that Cecil and Carlos had picked out together and Cecil had to force himself not to flinch away from it, the memory of burning light and cruel laughter still too raw on his twitching skin. "I can't forget," he repeated, softer, staring out at the light until his retinas burned. 

After a silent moment, Earl cautiously spoke again. "Why not?" He asked, and his voice was so gentle. He didn't laugh at Cecil's outburst, or call him childish for refusing to take his pills like most Night Valians would have. Instead, Earl stayed quiet, Earl gave him space that he both hated and needed, and Earl asked the right question. 

"Because I could have stopped it." Cecil hated the defeat in his voice. He gripped the edge of the counter so hard that the bones in his hands creaked and he let his head drop between his shoulders. 

"What do you mean?" Earl sounded like he was approaching a wounded and potentially lethal animal, but one that he wanted to help, not kill. 

"I could have stopped it." No matter how much Cecil hated the words pouring from his mouth he couldn't stop them, his control was gone and the words fled from between his teeth like viscous slime. "I should have done something, said something else, I should have- I should have stopped it."

"You couldn't have known what Strex was going to do," Earl said. His voice was closer, low and earnest, and it made Cecil shiver. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know." Cecil knew, but he didn't believe. "But if I forget, if it happens again-" Cecil's voice wavered and cracked and he swallowed, gritting his teeth. "Then it would be my fault."

"Cecil-" 

Cecil's skin was hypersensitive still after the dream, his nerves raw and jumpy. He felt the air above his shoulder bend and shift, and he didn't need his third eye to foresee the comforting hand that Earl was about to place there. "Don't!" He warned, his whole body flinching away from the perceived contact, not because he didn't want it but because he did. Because his body felt raw and his heart was aching and Carlos was so very far away- He grit his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose, and felt Earl pull back. "Thank you, for... for whatever you did for me last night, but I really need to get ready for work."

He felt Earl not just physically pull away from him, but pull entirely into himself, the comfort and warmth Earl offered curling back under freckled skin and leaving Cecil cold once again. "Right," Earl said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I'll just... go. Uh, see you around, Cecil."

Cecil didn't answer; he couldn't or he would break and beg Earl to stay. He listened to Earl leave, his eyes locked on the frilled edge of the curtain. He listened to Earl's footsteps retreat from the kitchen, and crunch across the living room. He heard the door open and close and the lawn chorus _Jessie's Girl_. With a little help from his third eye he reached out and watched as Earl climbed into his truck. Earl bent forward, resting his forehead against the corduroy of his steering wheel for a long minute, before he straightened up, hastily swiped at his eyes, and drove away. 

Cecil pulled back into himself, closing all three eyes as he slid down the cabinets to curl up on the kitchen floor. For some unknowable length of time he stayed there, his forehead pressed to his knees and his hands fisted in his hair. When he pulled himself together again and opened his eyes a box of tissues had helpfully appeared on the floor next to him and the words "you're late for work" had been scrawled in hot sauce on the door of his refrigerator.


	4. Just Listen To Your Friends, They Only Care And Hope You're Alright

Two days later, a nervous sounding Night Vale Community Radio intern called Earl to set up a time for him to come and do a cooking segment on Cecil's show. Earl was surprised. After Cecil had so determinedly kicked him out, Earl had fully expected the radio host to purposefully forget him again. Nevertheless, Earl agreed and that Thursday - his day off from Tourniquet- he found himself at the radio station.

Earl fidgeted as he waited for his segment to start. He’d arrived at the station early, hoping to get the chance to talk to Cecil, but Cecil had rushed in only moments before his show was supposed to start, looking rumpled and smelling of alcohol.

Earl had entirely forgotten that Homecoming was coming up until he listened to Cecil reporting on it. It hadn’t seemed important, but as he listened to Cecil talk his mind drifted back to high school, back when things had been so much simpler, when he’d had Cecil-

Earl found he couldn't focus on the recipe during the show, not while Cecil sat there, lies painted all over his face and with his voice. But Cecil was a professional - mostly - and every time Earl veered off topic Cecil artfully avoided his questions. It was frustrating, but Earl reminded himself that this was Cecil's job and not the appropriate time and place to discuss personal matters - even though most days Cecil himself forgot that - and besides, Cecil was distracted by the big Homecoming controversy going on.

Earl lingered to the end of the show, but Cecil seemed to vanish before the outro music even finished playing, and even the interns were bewildered as to why he'd gone so fast and how he'd gotten past them. 

Peeking into Cecil's studio one last time, just to be sure, Earl let out a resigned sigh. A part of him had hoped, foolishly, that this was his chance to reconnect with Cecil. They had been so close once, before high school ended, before everything had fallen apart. The distance between them may have lingered after Earl reached adulthood, and even Earl's miraculous return from apparent death hadn't garnered that much of a reaction from Cecil. But now, once again they had things in common; both had mysteries in their past that they didn't understand, both had known pain and loss, and both were horribly, achingly alone. At least, Earl had thought so. But maybe he'd been wrong, maybe that night at the bowling alley had been a fluke, maybe Cecil had been suffering from an accidental over delivery of emotion from the delivery service which had no name or contact info. 

He turned to leave the studio when Cecil's notes for the broadcast, left messily shuffled all over the desk, caught his attention. Or, rather, the blurred, streaked stains that could only be evidence of tears did. 

Earl thought about that sad, rumpled piece of paper, with Cecil's hand writing hastily scrawled across it, and the three distinct points where moisture had rendered the words beneath all but non-existent where it made the ink run and the paper turn soggy and translucent. He thought about that paper until he'd nearly reached his house. He thought about that paper until abruptly he found the hood of his truck and it's spinning wheels no longer pointing toward his residence, but toward the Ralph's. 

***

It was tricky to balance the grocery bags with one hand and hip while he knocked on the door with his other hand, but Earl managed it. It was even trickier to prepare himself for what Cecil might do or say when he opened the door. Earl ended up with plenty of time to worry about it, since he had to knock several times before he got a response.

It turned out that Cecil's response was to grip the door a little too tightly and blink blankly. 

"I couldn't get you a reservation at Tourniquet," Earl said, which would probably have been true, had he tried. "So I thought maybe I could bring a little of Tourniquet to you."

Cecil blinked, and Earl's hopeful smile started to fade. For a terrible, gut wrenching moment Earl thought that Cecil wasn't going to recognize him. But Cecil blinked again, and then his lips twitched into a bemused shadow of a smile. "What?" he asked. 

Earl gestured with the Ralph's bags that were steadily slipping out if his precarious grasp. "I thought I could make you dinner." Earl held his breath until Cecil stepped back and gestured him inside. 

The house looked better, less harsh, in the dying shrieks of the evening sun. It had been cleaned up, no more bottles laying around, only a few recently dirty dishes in the sink, and only the expected amount of disorganized mail and papers sprawled across the table. 

Earl didn't let himself stop and feel uncomfortable. He'd determined to do this and now there was nothing left but to bluster forward. And somehow, it worked. At first, Cecil hovered at the edge of the kitchen while Earl began to unpack the food in a parodied reversal of their positions a few days before. But gradually he relaxed, and so did Earl. 

While Earl cooked Cecil finished up the papers he'd been organizing. They made small talk, discussed how business at Tourniquet was going, debated how long the newest interns at the radio station might last, and sang snippets of the weather. Almost before Earl realized it Cecil was trying to steal a taste out of the pot and and setting the table. And then they were sitting across the table from each other, eating, and it was like they'd never been apart. By the time dinner was over and cleaned up Earl was breathless from laughter and Cecil's cheeks were a rosy pink flush. 

Earl found himself lingering as he headed for the door. "So you're definitely going to come do that toffee fried rice recipe on the show next week?" Cecil confirmed as he followed Earl to the door. 

"Only if you let me come over after and teach you the right way to stewing roachnuts," Earl laughed. He found himself walking backwards, just barely managing not to trip over the coat rack that abruptly appeared behind him. 

"Deal," Cecil agreed. His eyes were sparkling and a rush of warmth flooded the pit of Earl's stomach. 

"Deal," he agreed, his back thudding against the door. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Cecil and had to fumble blindly for the doorknob. He winced and cursed when it bit him, forcing him to focus on the task of escaping the house. 

"Earl?" Cecil said, the name caught somewhere between a question and an affirmation. He didn't seem to have noticed that Earl had run out of room to cross because he kept walking until he'd entered into Earl's personal space, his eyes bright and breath warm with spices. 

"Y-Yeah?" Earl responded, inwardly cursing. His voiced cracked on the word and it really was like he'd been transported back to high school. He couldn't resist glancing down at himself just to make sure that he hadn't somehow regressed back to his seventeen year old self again. Cecil was so close that Earl could see the void reflected in his eyes and it made Earl's chest feel as though it were locked in the vice grip of a medieval torture device. 

"Thank you." Cecil voice was little more than a whisper, a ghost across Earl's skin. 

A shiver ran down Earl's spine, but the door behind him opened before he could do or say anything else stupid and he all but fell out into the cool night air. 

Cecil was still watching from the doorway as Earl drove away. It was impossible to read Cecil's expression from such a distance, but he looked somehow forlorn standing in the doorway of a house much too big for him alone. The house seemed to loom over Cecil like a malevolent creature, the light streaming out through the open doorway to frame Cecil's lithe frame like a gaping maw reaching out to swallow the radio host whole. The only thing that stopped Earl from turning around immediately and dragging Cecil away from the empty house was the promise that Cecil would let him back in next week, and the desperate belief that Cecil wouldn't forget about their deal.


	5. Are You Drifting Way Beyond What's Normal?

Cecil felt light. This was partially because, thanks to budget cuts, the City Council had declared that gravity would be turned down to only fifty percent its usual power that week. But it was mostly because of Earl Harlan. 

His memories of Earl, up until a few weeks ago, were vague but fond. Earl had lived next door to him growing up, they'd been in the Boy Scouts together, played on the same little league team, and studied together in high school. He'd felt a wistful sort of sadness when Earl had been dragged away to some unknown fate by the strange mute children, and a confused delight when Earl had mysteriously returned. 

Earl was like the sun - metaphorically speaking, since as far as Cecil knew he had never actually turned into an irradiated ball of fiery gas - he was frequently unpredictable, and prone to shrieking unexpectedly. But he also exerted a sort of gravitational pull that made him a natural leader, and there was an energy barely contained within his coiled muscles that made him seem as though he was affecting the world around him even when he stood perfectly still. It was hard to resist the pull of him. 

He came onto Cecil's show every Thursday. And every Thursday, after the show, he followed Cecil home and cooked him dinner. And they talked. Cecil couldn't actually remember what exactly they talked about. He only knew that by the time he walked Earl to the door and said goodnight his cheeks hurt from laughter and the heavy weight of fear and guilt that had lived in the pit of his stomach since Strexcorp's takeover felt a little lighter. 

The feeling escalated as the weeks passed until Cecil no longer spent his nights clinging to a cold bottle, and he no longer felt the urge to flinch and cower from the light. The giddiness seemed to be infectious, as some of the lost intensity faded from Earl's eyes and the coiled energy in Earl’s movements held a little less desperate menace. 

During one of Earl's segments on Cecil's show an incident with an accidentally explosive croque-en-bouche left the pair clinging to each other as they giggled helplessly for so long that station management began to growl menacingly before Cecil could pull himself together enough to continue the show. 

That night, when Cecil made it home after pacifying management, the heavy aroma of home fried chicken and invisible corn filled the air and lured him into the kitchen. Earl had taken the brunt of the explosion, so Cecil had given Earl his key and permission to use the shower while he waited for Cecil to catch up. Earl, apparently, had taken full advantage of that allowance; when Cecil arrived Earl's hair was still damp enough to hang loosely instead of in its usual curls and he was hissing and cursing as he attempted to fish pieces of chicken out of a spitting pot of oil without the protection of a shirt. 

Earl's lower half was armored by a pair of worn old sweatpants that hung low around his hips, but he'd forgone a shirt, leaving his torso and arms exposed to the ravages of the elements. Freckles dotted his shoulders like the stars that ornamented the void and his normally pale chest was flushed red from the heat of the stove in front of him, and Cecil found himself frozen in the kitchen doorway as he took in the sight before him. 

Earl cursed, hopping back from the pot as a particularly large drop of oil splashed him. He froze, balanced precariously on one bare foot when he noticed Cecil watching him. "I didn't hear you come in," Earl said. He followed Cecil's line of sight down to his bare chest and low hanging pants. "Oh, uh, my clothes were covered in caramel viscera so I put them in your washer," Earl explained, his cheeks flushing to match his chest and hair. 

"No, uh, it's fine," Cecil assured hastily, clearing his throat. "Carlos won't mind."

Earl blinked. "Carlos?" he repeated. 

Cecil nodded, too focused on not looking too much at Earl to notice his expression. "Those are his pants." It hardly seemed worth explaining, afterall, both Earl and Carlos were much wider in the hips than Cecil, and though sweat pants tended to be particularly flexible a pair in Cecil's size would never form so fittingly around Earl's thighs. 

"Oh masters, shit, I'm sorry," Earl fumbled hastily. "My clothes are probably done anyway. Just watch the corn for me, I'll go-" Earl all but fled the kitchen without finishing his sentence, leaving a slightly bewildered Cecil in his wake.

"It's really okay," Cecil reiterated meekly to the - presumably - empty room. With Earl already hastening into the depths of the house, Cecil shrugged and dutifully kept an eye on the pot of invisible corn. 

By the time Earl returned, now dressed in his own slightly damp clothes, the food was apparently ready and he and Cecil fell with ease into their now established routine of getting out plates and cutlery. They decided to eat in the living room, since Cecil had netflixed a new western movie that he was pretty excited about. Loaded with food and drinks they settled onto the couch and Cecil started the movie. 

By the end of the movie, dirty but now empty plates had been discarded on the floor and somehow Cecil's feet had ended up over the back of the presently octagon shaped couch with his head on Earl's knee. 

"I'm just saying," Cecil complained. "It's ridiculous that the sheriff would give in so easily. After all, what was the robber going to do? All he had was a gun. It's not like he could have killed the sheriff. Some minor organ damage perhaps, but nothing serious."

Earl just shrugged. "There's no accounting for poor writing," he lamented sagely. Earl moved to grab the discarded plates, his knee shifting under Cecil's head with the motion and nearly dislodging him. Cecil squawked indignantly, flailing in a thoroughly unnecessary attempt to regain his balance and ended up tipping himself over the edge of the couch to land in an undignified heap. Earl abandoned the plates in favor of doubling over with helpless laughter; he couldn’t help it, and Cecil’s indignant glower did nothing to help the situation. It was heady and infectious and soon the house was ringing with hysteric giggles as Cecil’s glower broke in favor of joining Earl’s mirth.. Breathless and aching, Earl clutched at his chest and accidentally toppled forward to join Cecil on the floor. It was stupid, and pointless, but it took a breathless eternity for their giggles to subside.

When the buzz of hilarity finally began to fade Cecil realized, blinking hazily, that Earl’s face was alarmingly close to his own, and more than that, that he was very much lying on top of Earl. Earl was flushed to the tips of his ears, his sharp teeth bared as intermittent chuckles continued to slip from his throat. His mismatched eyes were hazy with warmth and amusement, and the way Earl's chest rose and fell weezily under Cecil made it seem as though his entire world was a slowly undulating ocean of warm blood and freckled skin. 

Cecil forgot how to breathe. He forgot how to move. For a brief moment, he forgot that anything outside of their small bubble of flesh and air existed at all. And it seemed that Earl did too, because he too stilled, his eyes going wide and his body slack beneath Cecil. 

"Cecil-" Earl said, though his voice was hardly more than the whisper of a hooded figure over grass. He'd gone absolutely still under Cecil, barely breathing. But his hand had somehow ended up on Cecil's hip and his fingers curled to dig into the soft cotton of Cecil's pants.

But Earl didn't continue, and Cecil swallowed, something bubbling up the back of his throat, something painful, something forbidden. Cecil opened his mouth, unable to contain whatever it was that clawed at his throat, but before a single sound could escape him a screech broke the air between them, making them both jump. 

It was a tangible snap, like a fracturing bone, and the haze left Earl's eyes even as the air rushed back into Cecil's lungs. "It's ... It's Carlos," Cecil rasped, his usually smooth voice gone rough and dry. Earl was still uncomfortably warm beneath him, his leg still half bent and trapped between Cecil's thighs, and Cecil's face is still close enough to Earl's for their breath to catch and mingle between them.

"Right." Earl's voice was sandpaper over stone, and his eyes had gone dark and shuttered. "You should answer it."

"Right," Cecil repeated, but lingered a moment longer before pulling away. 

As though released from a slingshot Earl scrambled away. "I should go anyway," he said. "It's getting late. Uh, goodnight." And Earl was gone, the door snapping shut behind him. 

Cecil sat where Earl had left him, in a disorganized heap on the floor, while the last remnants of hysteria buzzed under his skin. The shrill shriek of his phone ringing a second time snapped him back to the present and he reached for his phone out of numb instinct. He hesitated one moment longer, clearing his throat to ensure that nothing would come out of it but his usual dulcet tones before he answered. "Hey Carlos," he said, a broad smile in his voice.


	6. And You're Scared Of Being Left Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter. Enjoy!

In the next week Cecil texted Earl twice. Earl didn't answer either one. It didn't matter that the texts were mundane; one a funny story about the most recently deceased intern meeting Khoshekh, the other a question about the poison levels in different species of grapes. It wasn't that Earl hadn't tried to answer Cecil, it was rude not to after all. But every time Earl's thumbs hovered over the touch screen the words _I love you_ appeared without Earl even needing to touch his phone. He broke the three phones in his haste to delete the words before he gave up. 

Wednesday Earl found himself filling the time between the lunch and dinner rushes by hacking at the sides of beef he was preparing for the dinner menu with far more enthusiasm than really necessary. He couldn't avoid Cecil forever; after all, he was supposed to teach Cecil's listeners how to cook Shepherd's Pie in less than twenty four hours. But he _had_ to avoid Cecil, as long as the heat of Cecil's body pressed against his own and the sweet, corn-flavored whisper of Cecil's breath continued to buzz in his veins, he couldn't possibly face his former best friend. Because the key there was "former," whatever claim Earl may once have had was gone. Cecil had Carlos now. 

The muscles in Earl’s arms bunched and stretched repeatedly as again and again he slammed his hatchet into the side of the cow corpse. He paid no heed to the blood that splattered his face or the way his muscles began to burn from prolonged effort. He ignored everything but the words resounding in his head, conflicting and layering over one another. _I love you. It's Carlos. I love you. It's Carlos._

"Amazing news, listeners!" Cecil's voice screeched, and it took a moment for Earl to realize that the sound came, not from Earl's overtaxed mind, but from the radio that LaShawn had left on in the kitchen. "It's Carlos! He... He's home! I've just received a voicemail from Carlos calling from our home phone!”

The air left Earl's lungs. The hatchet fell with a clatter from his numb fingers. He straightened up unconsciously, his eyes fixing on the radio as though he could reach Cecil through it.

“He said that he found a way back from the desert other world,” Cecil continued obliviously, “which he'll explain to me later. But the important thing is that he's home.” There was so much joy in Cecil’s voice, so much relief, and it dug into Earl’s flesh like taloned fingers to wrap around his rib cage and pull. “He's standing in our kitchen right now and he's cooking me dinner, on our stove!"

Earl had forgotten entirely the bustling restaurant around him; he paid no heed to the cow’s blood that was gradually seeping into his shoes. He wanted to hate Carlos, a part of him even wanted to hate Cecil. But even as the joy in Cecil’s voice shredded his delicate organs, the absolute relief there made something warm bubble in the back of his skull. He wanted to hate them, but really, he just hated himself.

“I know it’s a little early, listeners,” Cecil’s voice continued, bubbling and tripping up and down the staccato scale of his excitement, “but I’m afraid I must end now. I… I have to go. I need to see Carlos now.”

Earl had stopped listening. He hardly even noticed when Cecil’s voice was replaced by a fumbling, nervous intern. He didn’t notice his coworkers staring at him, or LaShawn turning off the radio. He didn’t noticed because Cecil’s voice was still echoing in his mind, speaking two words over and over. Two terrible words that conflicted with three of his own. The words circled in Earl's mind, drowning out everything else.

_It's Carlos. I love you. It's Carlos._

***

Earl found himself on the lawn in front of Cecil's house. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there. He didn’t remember finishing his shift, or leaving the restaurant. But it was dark, he was standing on Cecil’s lawn, and his truck was no where in sight, so he’d either walked or magically transported there.

Cecil was a law abiding citizen, so the curtain over the kitchen was dutifully pulled back to plainly show the couple inside. A part of Earl felt wrong watching them, after all, he wasn’t an authorized individual working for the Secret Police, or a Vague Yet Menacing Government Agency. And yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Carlos looked older than Earl remembered from seeing him in passing, in the days now long ago before Carlos had returned Cecil's feelings and Earl had been dragged away by the mute children. His hair, though longer and a bit wild was just as perfect, and his teeth were just as straight. And Cecil had his arms around the scientist. Cecil was laughing, all three of his eyes dancing and his skin glowing. And if Cecil's fingers dug a little too deeply into the creases of Carlos' shirt, well, he couldn't really be blamed for that. Earl couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Carlos’ teeth flashed as he ran a distracted hand through his perfect hair and Cecil’s whole body shook with laughter.

They were, undeniably… beautiful together.

Earl, for his part, stood silently in the lawn, eternally grateful that it had recently been mowed and had not yet recovered enough to announce his presence with a melancholy song. He felt cold and warm all at once. The glowing lights of the void graced the street with dim light, but it was kind enough not to touch Earl, leaving him to wallow not just in the darkness of his heart but also in a literal physical darkness.

Inside the house, Cecil and Carlos moved in clumsy tandem, unwilling to break contact with one another for even a moment. Outside, Earl stood solidarity, swallowed by the void as the same words echoed through his mind. 

_I love you. It's Carlos. I love you._

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. Sequels are in progress.


End file.
